


All’s Well That Ends Well

by Arrowlion



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Babysitter and Dog Mom Anna of Cleves, Best Friend Jane Seymour, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Lawyer Catherine of Aragon, Light Angst, Romance, Single Parent Anne Boleyn, Smut, Uni Student Katherine Howard, Writer Cathy Parr, parrlyn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26080369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrowlion/pseuds/Arrowlion
Summary: Catherine Parr is trapped in a loveless marriage- and not her first one, either. She’s resigned herself to her fate until an encounter with an enchanting woman encourages her to reclaim control of her life- with the assistance of several friends.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr, Catherine Parr/Thomas Seymour
Comments: 32
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathy is an aspiring writer who has been through three marriages. She’s currently married to her fourth husband, Thomas Seymour, an investment banker whose ambitions often get the better of him.

It was a loud evening at the Parr-Seymour household. The dining room echoed with the scraping of forks against plates and the silence that should have been filled by conversation. Thomas glowered at his plate, nudging the food around, waiting for the question to which his wife already knew the answer. 

Finally, Cathy caved in, unable to withstand the palpable pressure. 

“How was work?” she asked in a monotone, gnawing a tine at the corner of her mouth.

Thomas slammed his fork down against the table. The sharp _bang_ replaced the momentary void of sound, reverberating through the high-ceilinged room.

“Ned got the job,” he growled. “COO.”

She had assumed as much. For months, Thomas and his brother Ned had been grappling for second-in-command at the investment bank where the the two both worked. Thomas had hinted that the CEO’s decision was impending, and the storm in his eyes when he came home that day had told Cathy everything she needed to know.

“I’m sorry,” she tried to sympathize. Inwardly, she felt only relief that it was all over. Ned and his family had never liked her, and they made no secret of it, either. The mutual disdain between them had festered with every dinner that Thomas forced them to attend together, always with the unsuccessful goal of dissuading Ned from the promotion with vague, irrational threats. 

“It’s because he’s always kissing ass,” Thomas muttered, more to himself than her. “I deserved that job. He knows it, too. Well, we’ll see about this, anyway. I’ve got some opportunities, you know.”

Alarm shivered down Cathy’s spine. “You don’t mean Sharington,” she protested. 

He didn’t answer, just skewered a potato on his fork as though it had deeply offended him. 

“Tom, that guy’s bad news,” insisted Cathy. “Whatever he’s been selling to you, don’t listen. Embezzlement’s a crime, and at your level- if you were caught, do you know what kind of prison sentence you’d be facing?”

“Cathy,” he snarled suddenly. “Shut the fuck up. A man’s gotta do what a man‘s gotta do. What, you think it’s easy, paying for everything around here?”

“I can help,” she began, but he cut her off with a grating, humorless guffaw.

“With what, Cath? Your _book_?” He pressed a mocking emphasis on the last word. “Tell me, how many publishers have turned down your bloody manuscript by now? Ten? Twelve?”

She flinched. He always knew where to lash out, which vein pulsed under the softest skin, and he never missed.

When she didn’t respond, he stood up, dumped the dinner she had made into the trash, and stormed over to the liquor cabinet. While he hunched over his choices, she rose to her feet and cleaned up noiselessly behind him. He still hadn’t turned around as she descended the stairs, deciding to go to bed early. 

For some reason, she didn’t feel like writing that night. 

*

Cathy couldn’t sleep. 

She lay on top of the coverlet, staring out the window at the flicker of headlights surging down the neighborhood road. Her laptop sat on a side table next to the sill, the sight of it burning into her. So many midnights passed wide awake, typing furiously, and then browsing through website after website, chasing publishers from every corner of the country- and for what? 

Thomas was right. It wouldn’t amount to anything. 

“Cath?” 

A thick voice interrupted her thoughts. She rolled over to see a stopped figure, leaning against the doorway. Even from here, the stench of alcohol was strong, a miasma of marc and kirsch and whatever else he’d been able to dig up from his cache. 

“You awake?” he slurred. 

“Yeah,” she mumbled. He lurched forward, steadying himself with the dresser, and managed to stagger to the bed. She resisted the urge to cover her nose as he thudded down next to her, still in his work attire. 

“Look,” he sighed, pushing several strands of damp brown hair out of his eyes. She’d once found it endearing, the way it always fell into his face, but right now there was nothing remotely attractive about the man lying next to her. 

_No, don’t think that,_ she chastised herself. _Not again. You’ve been through this too many times already._

“Look,” Thomas was saying. “ I’m sorry. . . I lost my head. I know. . . you want what’s. . . what’s best, and I do, too. . . But you need. . . to let me handle, just handle it, okay?” He leaned into her as he stumbled over the words, his humid breath hitting her nape. “It’s gonna be fine. . . I know what I’m doing, okay? And I. . . I love you, Cath, you know, I love you.” 

_Say it back. Don’t let this one fall apart, too.  
_

“I love you, too.”

He muttered something indecipherable in response, putting his lips against her neck. She felt his hand reach up and gird her waist, then slide down, slithering between her thighs. The bedframe shuddered as he heaved himself on top of her, weighing her into the mattress. The reek of spirits was suffocating. 

This was more than she could take. 

“Tom, no,” she choked out, struggling to disengage herself from his arms. “Not tonight.”

“C’mon, Cath,” he groaned, planting kisses from her check to her collarbone, his fingers lifting up her oversized nightshirt. 

“No!” she snapped, pushing at him with such force that he floundered backward in the darkness, long enough for her to slip out from under him. “I _said_ not tonight.”

Sliding off the bed, he rose unsteadily to his feet, glaring at her with venom in his eyes. “Fine,” he spat out. “Fine,” and with that, he blundered in the general direction of the door, one hand on the wall for support. 

“Where are you going?” she asked, sitting up.

“Out,” was all he said, and then he was gone, leaving Cathy alone in the oppressive darkness. 

Biting her lip, Cathy reached to the side table and plucked her phone from the varnished wooden surface. With numb fingers, she tapped out the number. Despite the lateness of the hour, it rang only twice before the answer voice came, musical and soothing. 

“Cathy? What’s wrong?”

“Hey, Jane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how far I’ll get with this fic (because school exists) but I’ll try my best. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> And in case you were wondering, Anne’s first appearance comes in the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathy goes out for drinks with a friend to distract herself from Thomas, but gets a much bigger distraction than she’d bargained for.

The routine was well-established and well-practiced by now, learned by rote.

Cathy knew exactly where her husband was right now: at an upscale bar somewhere, where he would drink himself deeper into oblivion, hook up with a girl half his age, and blow an exorbitant amount of money on a hotel room for the two of them. In the morning, he would go straight to work, and by the time he came home that evening he wouldn’t speak a word of any of it. 

It hurt her, of course, and in the early days of their marriage, it had surprised her. He hadn’t shown any inclination toward these nights of carousing while they had been dating. Back then, he had been all smiles in lambent candlelight, gentle kisses under the moon and eyes that charmed her into agreeing to whatever he asked- including the godforsaken ring. 

Now here she was, on her fourth marriage, and these days his bouts of lust and dipsomania were just another part of life. She coped with them as well as she could. 

Thankfully, at least, she had someone on her side. Thomas’ sister Jane was the kindest soul she had ever been fortunate enough to come across in her life, someone who was willing to do anything, go anywhere, just to liven Cathy’s spirits.

Tonight, as it so happened, Jane had settled on a bar. Not any of the places that Thomas might frequent. In fact, there wasn’t a man in sight. 

“Are you sure a lesbian bar doesn’t send the wrong message?” Cathy asked as they sat down. The place was small, but crowded, with dim golden light and wooden furnishings. It was casual but stylish, and the sharp attire of the women around her made Cathy, in jeans and a blouse that she’d thrown on with careless hands, feel slightly underdressed. 

“Relax, love,” Jane assured her. “If you stay with me, nobody’s going to hit on you. A lesbian bar is _exactly_ the place we needed.”

“But I’m not a lesbian.”

Jane smiled. “It’s not as if they can tell. I promise.”

“Okay,” Cathy relented. She shook her head when Jane offered her a menu. “Just order whatever you’re having- here’s my card-“

“Really, Cathy. It’s on me.” The blonde woman stood up and walked away to order. Too late, Cathy comprehended that she was being left alone.

“Wait, Jane-“ she started to say, then shut her mouth when she realized that her friend was already out of earshot. 

_All right, it’s fine. I can handle a few minutes on my own. And then we can drink and talk and forget about Thomas for a few hours, at least._

In the meantime, she decided, her best defense was a book. Cathy never went anywhere without one. She fished around in her bag and pulled out the first volume that her fingers touched, a battered edition that she’d picked up on her last trip to the used book store but hadn’t had the chance to open.

She’d only gotten through two pages when a lithe shape moved at the edge of her field of vision. A high voice, brazen and coquettish, rang out over the din of chatter and music. 

“What’cha you reading, babes?”

Cathy looked up, fully prepared with her line (“Sorry, I’m not interested”) only to go rigid, the words dying in her throat. 

The woman was stunning. 

Her eyes were olive green, bright with the reflection of the light. They were set in a delicate face, dusted with blush and framed by rivers of long, dark hair that spilled down her shoulders, held partially up by two buns. And her coralline lips were tilted in a sleek smile.

Cathy’s heart sprinted in her chest. She wanted to speak, but her mouth was dry as sand. Perhaps, she realized belatedly, because it had drifted wide open. Quickly she pressed her lips together and looked away.

_What’s going on with me?_

_She’s beautiful._

_I’m_ straight, _for Christ’s sake._

_Aren’t I?_

It was as if she were a marionette, with strings tugging her along without the cut of rational thought. She wanted the girl to stay, so she forced herself to answer. First she had to consult the book’s cover to remind herself of the title that she’d somehow forgotten in the past five seconds. 

“It’s. . . er. . . All’s Well That Ends Well,” she finally stuttered out, cringing internally at how high and fast her voice sounded. 

“Shakespeare. Nice. You read it before?” the girl asked. Cathy kept her own eyes averted, trying to regain her composure, but she could feel the stranger’s eyes on her face, lighting it on fire. 

“N-no, not yet.”

“Then I won’t spoil it for you- although I guess the title tells you enough anyhow.” Still smiling that crooked smile, she gestured to the seat next to Cathy. “This seat taken?”

In truth, it was the spot that Jane had vacated. Dimly Cathy wondered what was taking her so long, but for the most part, her thoughts were very, very far from Jane at the moment. She nodded, and the girl climbed onto the seat. 

More light touched her body now, filling it details that Cathy hadn’t noticed before, transfixed as she had been on the girl’s face. An emerald green slip dress sheathed her figure, highlighting curves that stole the breath from Cathy’s lungs. Once again, her heart thudded frantically, and she was consumed by the inexplicable desire to reach out, to _touch. . ._

_What the hell? What’s happening?_

“You read a lot?” the girl asked, distracting her from the sudden, baffling impulse.

“Y-yeah. Usually. And sometimes write.”

“You’re an author?” Her eyes sparkled like bottle glass, so it was with reluctance that Cathy confessed the disappointing truth. 

“No. At least, not yet. I haven’t found someone who thinks I’m good enough to publish.”

“So?” The brunette shrugged. “Doesn’t make you any less of one. I think _Twilight_ got rejected, like, fifteen times or something.”

“I’m aiming a bit higher than vampire romances,” said Cathy drily. But this stranger’s optimism was contagious, and she found herself sitting a little straighter than before. 

“Okay,” the girl was saying, “take your pick, then. _Frankenstein. Lord of the Flies._ That one about the whale. I’ll bet you’ve got a classic in the making.”

Cathy didn’t need a mirror to see the blush that was undoubtedly unfurling on her cheeks.

“Sorry, Cathy,” Jane’s voice suddenly sounded behind her. “I was chatting with the- oh.” She stopped short, a drink in each hand, stone-blue eyes skipping between Cathy ad her now-occupied seat. 

There was a brief but nonetheless awkward pause. Cathy scrambled to collect her thoughts, but the stranger was quicker.

“You‘re here together?” she asked, rising to her feet.

“Yes,” Cathy managed, but, instead of just leaving it at that, “My friend and I, we, er, we wanted to have a fun night out.”

Her answer seemed to please the girl, who nodded and flashed another grin. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Nice meeting you- Cathy, right?”

It was like music, her name in the stranger’s euphonious voice. She gave a mute nod. 

“I’m Anne. See you around, Cathy.” With that, she stepped into the crowd and was swept away, leaving Cathy staring at the blank space she left behind. 

Why had she felt the need to affirm that Jane was just her friend? Wasn’t the whole point that she’d be left alone if people thought they were together?

 _Except. . . I don’t_ want _this girl- Anne- to leave me alone. . ._

See you around, she’d said. . . 

“Cathy?” Jane was regarding her with no small degree of concern. “Are you all right?”

“I- yes, I am. Sorry, I don’t know. . . what came over me.”

Jane frowned. “Maybe I should have ordered something less strong.”

“No, really, I’m okay. It was just. . . something about that girl.” She shook her head like a cat flicking water off its whiskers. “Forget about it.”

“Okay,” Jane agreed, but doubt lingered in her voice. Determined to put _whatever that was_ behind her, Cathy took a sip of her drink and faced Jane with determined concentration. 

“So. How’s Edward these days? Preschool, huh?”

* 

They’d gotten through two drinks and a decent chunk of time, almost (but not quite) enough for Cathy to banish Anne from her mind. At least, until Jane signaled the bartender for more.

“Your drinks have been paid for,” announced the bartender when Jane offered payment. 

A frisson of excitement rippled over Cathy, impossible to suppress. 

“By whom?” she asked, trying and failing to keep her tone neutral. 

The bartender gestured, and Cathy followed the motion with her gaze, only to make direct eye contact with Anne. This time, she offered an unthinking smile in return. 

“I’m going to go thank her,” Cathy decided.

By now Jane was looking alarmed as well as bewildered. “Wait, what? Cathy, hold on-“

“I’ll be fine, really. I just. . . want to talk to her.”

The alcohol was liquid courage in her veins, and it carried her across the bar. There were no empty seats, so she just stood next to Anne, who looked up expectantly.

“Thanks for the drink,” said Cathy. 

“Sure, my pleasure. I figured you could use it.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re reading Shakespeare in a bar at 1 A.M. Plus, your shirt’s on backwards.”

Cathy blinked and looked down on disbelief, only to discover that Anne’s judgement was correct. 

“Shit- I didn’t see- neither did Jane, I guess-“

“Don’t worry about it. I think it’s cute. Besides, I wouldn’t’ve noticed if I hadn’t been looking there.” She indicated Cathy’s chest with a nod of her head, sending another blush flooding to her face.

“Are you flirting with me?” Cathy burst out.

“What, am I being too subtle?” Anne smirked.

For some reason, Cathy felt a swift relief that she’d stopped wearing her wedding ring years ago. Rather than backing out of it and returning to Jane, as her diminished sense of reason suggested, she let herself lean closer, close enough to breathe in Anne’s sweet, intoxicating scent. 

“I really like you,” she whispered. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Anne asked, and, without giving the question any further thought, Cathy nodded. 

“Yes.”

As they walked past Jane, the blonde woman reached out and grabbed Cathy’s arm.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. 

“It’s okay,” said Cathy. “Look-“

“Just hold on, Cathy, it’s late, we should go home-“

“I’ll be all right. I think. . . this is what I need tonight. Okay?”

“But-“

“Please, Jane.”

“I- okay, but where are you going?”

Cathy turned to Anne, who shrugged. “My flat is about a block from here. That is, unless you’re looking for something more high-class-“

“No, that’s perfect. Mind writing the address?”

“Sure. Got a pen?”

She scribbled it down on a napkin. Cathy tore off the scrap and handed it to Jane.

“I’ll be here if there’s an emergency or something.” 

“But. . . aren’t you going to have your drink?” 

Anne laughed. “Have them both,” she suggested to Jane, then, taking Cathy’s hand, led her out into the crisp night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is all smut- skip to Chapter 4 if you’d like!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathy isn’t as straight as she thought she was. 
> 
> (100% smut, all contained here if you’d like to skip.)

Only when she was standing in Anne’s bedroom with half of her clothes off did Cathy realize that there was a problem.

She hadn’t really been thinking before then. She was entirely absorbed in Anne.

Those green eyes, locked onto hers. The stray strands of brunette hair that brushed against Cathy’s skin as she leaned closer. The red lips that were soft and sweet against her own. 

Kissing her was like nothing that Cathy had ever known. It sent heat streaking through her blood, right down to her center. 

She was just drunk enough to let her instincts claim her. Her hands slid through Anne’s hair as the other’s tongue eased inside her mouth. She could feel the warmth of their bodies pressing together, the curve of her breasts through the thin fabric of the dress. The sensation drove an carnal ache straight to the juncture of Cathy’s thighs. 

They were approaching the bed, intertwined, one step at a time. Anne’s nails scraped at her scalp, a soft moan breaking from her throat. Her hands drifted down, the skin of her palms silken against Cathy’s bare stomach as they pulled her blouse over her head. Then they darted around her back, deftly undoing the clasp of her bra. The cool air pricked her, but Anne’s warm touch on her breasts, grasping and kneading, chased away the chill.

Anne was the first break off the kiss, bearing down on the side of Cathy’s neck instead, where she sucked hard enough to leave a mark. Slowly she pushed Cathy toward the mattress. 

And it was then that Cathy remembered, regrettably, that she had no idea what the hell she was doing. 

“Anne?” she breathed. “I. . . I’m not sure about this.”

Anne lifted her head, a thin filament of saliva linking her mouth to Cathy’s skin. She said nothing, just waited.

“You see, I. . . I’ve never done this before.” Cathy swallowed. “I don’t know how.”

“Hm.” Anne lifted her fingers to Cathy’s disheveled curls, tugging playfully. “I guess. . . I’ll just have to show you, then, won’t I?” She nipped at Cathy’s ear, effectively cutting through any lingering threads of doubt. 

Cathy fell back as Anne lunged forward, carrying them both onto the bedspread. She pulled off Cathy’s jeans and panties, tossing them aside without looking to see where they fell. In one fluid motion, she stripped off her dress, followed instantly by her undergarments. With no more cloth to separate them, she spread her legs wide over Cathy’s hips, pinning her down with only the slightest touch. 

Cathy didn’t think she had ever seen anything so beautiful than the sight of Anne, naked on top of her. The lamplight took a liking to her skin, washing it into vellum, while her emerald eyes flashed fierce and hot. Cathy’s spine arched upward, grinding her pelvis to Anne’s. She inhaled sharply at the wetness she found there, the folds that were slick against her own, redoubling the ache in her swollen clit. 

But Anne seemed oblivious to her need. She leaned down and landed soft kisses on Cathy’s neck, collarbone, and shoulder, then down to her breasts, tracing patterns with her tongue on one while she squeezed the other with her hand. When she sucked at Cathy’s nipple, Cathy twisted a hand into her hair, gasping aloud. 

Just when she thought she couldn’t take it another moment, Anne moved her warm, eager mouth to Cathy’s other breast. The fleeting interruption was enough for her to hold herself together, but only barely. She could feel herself getting wetter still as Anne’s slender fingers reached her clit, stroking it with a feather-light touch. A whimper flitted from her lips unbidden. 

_This is wrong_ , and in the haze of her thoughts there was a part of her that knew it, but that just made it feel _so much better._

 _Free. . . to make_ myself _happy, for once. To take what I want._

 _I want_ her.

“You like it?” Anne whispered. Her tone teasing and light, but there was a rough, feral rasp to it that betrayed her. Her thirst must be as strong as Cathy’s, and if that were the case, she couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

So Cathy once again bucked her hips, thrusting against Anne, and almost snarled the words.

“Take me.”

There was never a more delicious feeling than that of Anne’s finger sliding deep inside her. Her spine curved up off the bed while she gripped fistfuls of the covers to steady herself. Anne withdrew almost entirely before driving back into her, further than before. Desire lanced through Cathy’s core, and she heard her own voice begging for “More, I want more.”

A smile quirking her lips, Anne readily obliged, adding another finger alongside the first, pistoning in and out.

Even as Anne fingered her, Cathy noticed the slick wetness of the other girl’s labia slipping against her skin. It inflamed her. She surged up and arched forward, pushing gently until Anne complied, falling back onto the bed with her legs spread. Her eyes glittered up at Cathy, waiting. 

“Think you can do it?” she panted, her voice heavy and husky. In answer, Cathy thrust a finger into Anne’s liquid depths, then another, moaning when Anne entered her again from below. They leaned in at the same time, lips soldering together. 

“Give me three,” Anne ordered, her mouth moving against Cathy’s as she spoke, and Cathy was more than willing to obey. Anne was tight and slick around her, while Cathy’s own walls clenched on Anne’s fingers as they curled toward Cathy’s g-spot.

Unable to last a second longer, Cathy cried out, giving herself over to her climax. Blank, blissful pleasure spasmed through her body, liquefying her into nothing and no one. Not a failed writer and wife, not an unfaithful lover and friend, just fluids and flesh, no more. 

She sensed rather than saw that Anne‘s fingers were still there, riding her through it. As she reality returned, she pumped rapidly into Anne until the other came undone beneath her, gasping out Cathy’s name in a way that Thomas never had, biting softly at Cathy’s shoulder until she too had finished. 

They collapsed into each other, panting, letting their heartbeats slow. Anne nuzzled into the crook of Cathy’s neck, fingers stroking the faint mark that her teeth had made on Cathy’s clavicle. 

“You really haven’t done that before?” she asked.

“I never thought I _wanted_ to.”

“Hm?”

“I. . . I never thought. . . I liked women.”

Cathy fell asleep with the peals of Anne’s laughter spinning songs into her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: a bit of angst.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Cathy and Anne have insecurities.

When Cathy woke up, the sheets were tangled around her in a percale cocoon. She must have gotten cold in the night, although she couldn’t remember even getting under the covers. 

In fact, there wasn’t too much she _could_ remember.

But the sight of the girl nestled in her arms, breathing softly into her shoulder, was enough to send the memories of last flooding back into her aching skull. She gasped, then groaned, clapping a hand to her temple.

Anne murmured a quiet, half-awake protest in her throat. “More sleep,” she drawled, then yelped as Cathy withdrew her other arm. “What?”

“What time is it?” Cathy croaked. 

Anne craned her neck, rubbing one eye with her first, to glanced up at a clock at the wall.

“Six. . . thirty?”

Thomas would be going to work, then. His shift started at seven. Not that she was in any danger of being found out- he never dropped by the house after nights like these, not until the end of the workday.

Such calculated thinking twinged her head and her heart. Is this who she was now? A wife who cheated on her husband? Someone who worried more about being caught than the error of her ways? 

_So fast. . . just one night. . . one girl._

__

__

_It’s wrong. All of it. This isn’t me. I have a husband, I go to church on Sundays. . ._

But a small voice nagged at back of her mind, dodging beneath the rest of her thoughts.

_Does Thomas feel this way, each time he goes to bed with some other girl?_

She knew the answer to that question. 

What she felt at the moment was sharp and dull at the same time, teeth gnawing at her from the inside out. In the scuffed mirror on Anne’s dresser, she could see the hurt playing out on her face. She couldn’t image Thomas feeling anything of the sort.

“Cathy?”

Cathy shoved herself up into a sitting position, but it was too late. Anne had already glimpsed the anguish twisting her features, and her mouth, still smudged with traces of last night’s lipstick, pulled down into a concerned frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Touching her face, Cathy was startled to find it wet. She swiped her sleeve over her cheek in a pathetically obvious attempt to cover it up.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” she snapped.

Anne hesitated, as though unsure whether it was kinder to probe or to stay out of it. She landed halfway in between, giving a weak smile. “Was it really that bad?” 

“No, of course not- this isn’t about- well- but that’s not to say I didn’t-“

“I mean,” Anne interrupted. “I don’t know about you. But for _me_. . . it was one of the best nights of my life.”

A warm glow burst over Cathy, melting everything else away.

“You. . . you mean it?” she asked. 

“Mm-hm,” said Anne. “You’re really beautiful, you know that? I don’t think I said it, not in so many words.”

Cathy let Anne take her back into her arms. The soft contact was comforting.

“You are, too,” she sighed. 

“And smart.” Anne ignored the compliment as she toyed with Cathy’s curls, evoking dusky visions of the night before. “Definitely smart. A writer. Good with words.” She positioned her face directly in front of Cathy’s. “So it wasn’t bad, was it, Cathy? Didn’t you like it?”

“I loved it,” Cathy whispered.

Anne shook her head curtly. “No,” she protested. “I know you can do better than that. Tell me _what_ you liked about it.”

“Anne-“ Cathy closed her eyes, blocking out the distracting sight of Anne’s full lips, so close to her own. Her blood was already pounding; she could tell that this little game might escalate with impressive speed. She weighed her options. 

On one hand, her head hurt and she needed to get home and probably call Jane, too, just to reassure her that she was safe. 

On the other, closing her eyes didn’t do much good, because there was still the fragrance that clung to Anne’s skin, honey-sweet but with a faint musky undercurrent that sent a thrill through Cathy’s core. 

There was a clear right and wrong decision, so it was a blessing that the doorbell rang before she could choose the latter. 

“Oh- _shit,_ “ Anne yelped, scrambling off the bed.

“What’s wrong?”

Anne flew into the bathroom and returned in the next heartbeat, yanking a plastic green hairbrush through her tangled tresses. “So- okay, like, I don’t really know how to say this- but, like- that’s my babysitter- I mean, not _my_ babysitter, goddamnit-“ She flitted back into the bathroom and out again, this time swabbing at her face with a cloth, eroding the impasto of makeup that still clung to her skin. “Her name’s Anna. The babysitter, not my daughter. Shit, I mean- I’ve got a daughter. And she’s at the door.”

“Oh,” was all Cathy could think to say.

Opinions changing, so fast.

Her opinion of herself. Her opinion of Thomas. Her opinion of Anne.

_Not that I think less of her. More like. . . more._

_A mother. I couldn’t even imagine. It’s been years since I thought about having kids. . ._

Meanwhile, Anne was whirling around the room in a cyclone, flinging on her clothes. Suddenly aware that she was still stark naked, Cathy gathered her blouse, jeans, and underwear and slipped them back on. By then, Anne nearly ready, smoothing her hair one last time.

The doorbell had already rung a second and third time, and just then it chimed again. Then again, then again, until it was constant, never stopping. Cathy cringed at the racket. With a glance to make sure that Cathy was dressed, Anne struck out down the hall to the door. 

She was speaking, only just audible over the doorbell situation. “I forgot I told Anna to come early- damn it, I need to keep track of these things- how can I expect-“ 

She cut herself off as she threw the door open. “Okay, Anna, for God’s sake, don’t let her break the bloody doorbell.”

“Mum!” a high-picture voice squealed, followed by a low “ungh” from Anne as though something had just slammed into her stomach. Cathy, hanging back in the bedroom doorway, couldn’t see the child, only the babysitter- Anna. She was young, about university-aged, with cropped black hair and an easygoing smile resting on her face. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” said Anne, a smile in her voice. “Did you get breakfast?”

“Stopped for doughnuts on the way, didn’t we, Liz?” Anna grinned. 

“I got jam! Strawberry!” 

“And did you save any for me?” asked Anne. Both she and Anna laughed at the nervous pause that followed.

“I’ll pay you for that,” Cathy heard Anne promise, but Anna shook her head. “Forget about it. I wanted to.”

“Thanks for watching her.”

“Anytime. Seriously. The kid’s perfect. Besides, the dogs are nuts about her.”

“Did you play with the doggies, Elizabeth?”

“Bruno drooled on my leg. All over.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, baby.”

Watching the scene unfold before was suddenly so much that Cathy had to look away. Their interaction was so lighthearted, yet so personal and intimate she felt like a voyeur. The way Anne spoke, grateful and stressed and joyful all at the same time, left her almost dizzy with an acute ache, the root of which she couldn’t quite pin down. For some reason, she didn’t think it had anything to do with the hangover.

Just then, her cellphone rang. 

Everyone jumped. Cathy reached down and clicked the phone off, but it was too late. Anna’s head whipped up, her eyes going wide as she noticed Cathy for the first time. The stranger in their midst. 

“Who’s this?” Anna asked.

“Oh, er-“ Anne bit her lip. “This is my, erm, my friend Cathy. She needed a place to stay the night.”

“Right,” said Anna, her gaze friendly despite her sarcastic tone. “Well, it’s good to meet you.” 

“Y-yeah. You too,” Cathy replied somewhat awkwardly.

Anne’s daughter- Elizabeth- poked her head out from behind her mother’s leg when Cathy spoke, letting Cathy see her properly for the first time. She was no more than eight years old, with wavy auburn hair clipped neatly out of her face, which was dominated by a pair of big brown eyes. In every other respect, she was an exact replica of Anne. 

“Hello,” Cathy tried. She’d always liked kids, and flattered herself that they liked her in return. After all, she was one of the few people that could soothe Edward, Jane’s fussy son. 

(Although, the rest of the children on the Seymour side of the family seemed to hate her with a passion. Maybe it was just the genes- nothing to do with Cathy after all.)

“Use your manners, Elizabeth,” Anne prompted. 

“Hi,” squeaked Elizabeth, before ducking back behind Anne’s thigh. Anne sighed.

“Relax, Anne,” Anna advised. “Most kids her age don’t like to talk to strangers. Probably a good thing.”

“I guess,” said Anne. “Anyway- thanks again.”

“Not a problem. See you later- and again, nice meeting you, Cathy.” Anna winked. 

“Bye, Anna!” Elizabeth yelled as the door swung shut. Anne reached down and squeezed her hand. 

“Why don’t you go play in your room, okay?” she suggested. Elizabeth nodded, darting one last appraising look at Cathy before trotting away. 

“How old is she?” Cathy asked on impulse. 

“Turned seven a month ago- er, two months. God, the time flies.” She reaches up and ran a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry- I can imagine what you think of me-“

Cathy blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You know. I’ve got a seven-year-old kid, and here I am pawning her off to my friend, going to bars, hooking up with total strangers- no offense- I’m such a god-awful mother.”

“Anne, relax,” Cathy broke in. “None of that is true. I don’t think anything of the sort- and you’re not a bad mother.”

Anne didn’t seem to hear. “I shouldn’t have done it. It was stupid, but I’d been studying all week and finally turned in my paper and I just- I wanted one night for myself. Stupid. I’ve got to stop acting like I’m still some idiot kid, just ‘cause I go to school with them-“ She shook her head, hands and lip both trembling. Instinctively Cathy stepped to her side and wrapped her arms around her.

“It’s okay. Breathe. You’re not stupid, not at all.” Searching for a distraction, she seized on a fragment of Anne’s harangue. “You said you studied all week?”

“Yeah. At uni.” Anne tilted her head, resting it against Cathy’s. “I should’ve graduated already, I know, but I didn’t finish my first time through. I was about to- just a year left- but then I got pregnant with Elizabeth, and, well, I dropped out. Now I’m trying to catch up, get my degree. Better late than never, I guess.”

The idea of Anne in Cathy’s mind was being reshaped yet again. Talking seemed to be helping, too- Anne sounded calmer, less frantic than before. “What are you studying?” Cathy asked her.

“English. Literature and stuff. ‘Course, I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do with it.” She laughed once, but it was bitter and hollow, not the bright melody that Cathy had grown used to. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m dumping all this on you. God.” She attempted to pull away, blinking very hard. 

“No- I- you’re not-“

 _Breathe,_ she reminded herself. _Think, then say what you want to say._

“Anne, listen.” Cathy took her hand, soft as tulle, and laced her fingers with Anne’s. “Raising a kid and going back to school at the same time- that’s amazing. I don’t know a lot of people who could do that. You shouldn’t feel bad about having one night out, not when you’ve been working so hard. . . And, for the record, I don’t think hooking up with strangers is necessarily such a terrible thing. At least, not always.”

Anne giggled. “Maybe not,” she conceded. “Thanks, Cathy.” They embraced again, quickly, tightly, then leaped apart as a salvo of ferocious knocks thundered against the door. 

Cathy saw her surprised mirrored in Anne’s face.

“Who could that be?”

“No idea.” The brunette once again opened the door, Cathy peering over her shoulder. 

It was the last person whom she would have wanted or expected to see.

_. . . Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . uh oh, here we go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathy has a choice to make.

“Tom,” Cathy sputtered.

He looked a mess. His chestnut hair was unkempt, half of it hanging limply into his forehead and the other half sticking up in cowlicks. His suit was the same one from yesterday, creased and crumpled. 

He was appraising her as she appraised him. She couldn’t say exactly what gave it away. Maybe it was her shoeless feet, or her rumpled clothes, not much smoother than his own. Or maybe it was just the look on her face.

“So,” he growled by way of greeting.

“Wh- why aren’t you at work?” she choked out. 

“Because fuck them, that’s why.”

“Cathy, who the hell is this?” Anne demanded. 

“ _Cathy,_ “ Thomas repeated in a crude imitation of Anne’s voice. “I’ve got the same question.”

“Tom- my husband-“ she began, trying to address them both at the same time. 

“Come on,” he cut her off. “We’re going home.” 

What else could she do, but shove her shoes on, throw an apologetic look Anne’s way, and step out the door?

“Hold on a second,” Anne cried as Cathy crossed the threshold. “How the hell did you know to find her here? _At my house_?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he dismissed her. “We’re leaving now, aren’t we?” 

“Actually, it kind of does matter, so-“

“Mum?”

Everyone automatically looked down. Elizabeth stood several paces behind Anne, clutching a blue crayon in one hand. 

Thomas laughed.

Cathy hated it, the cachinattor’s malice that festered inside him. When he yelled, she could yell back, but when he laughed, it was as though he was stripping the very skin from her body, leaving her raw, exposed, and vulnerable.

“The bitch has a kid,” he chuckled. “Figures.” Still leering, he looked to Anne. “Where’s the daddy? Not around? Bet he dumped your cheating ass.”

Anne’s fingers clenched into fists at her side. “You’re married to this dick, Cathy?”

“Mum, who is he?” Elizabeth wailed. 

Thomas bent his knees to reach a hand to her face, teasingly stroking her cheek. “I’m your Mummy’s friend.”

“Don’t _touch_ my daughter! I swear to God, I’ll call the fucking cops-“

By now, Cathy felt sick. With a roiling stomach and spinning head, she she shoved Thomas away. “We’re leaving,” she half-ordered, half-begged. He didn’t resist as she dragged him down the hall of the residential building, but the leer lingered on his face all the way into the car. 

It took the combined effort of every cell in Cathy’s body not to look back, to cement a final picture of Anne into her memory, but she managed. 

She didn’t deserve that much.

*

Jane called the instant they got home.

“I’m so sorry, Cathy, it’s all my fault-“

“Don’t say that.” Cathy kept her tone hushed. Thomas had stormed off into their bedroom, adjacent to the guest room where she sat now. It looked like he really meant to blow off work today, a decision that probably had something to do with the stench of alcohol on him. He was probably passed out already, but Cathy wasn’t taking any chances. 

“No, but it is- he called me this morning and asked where you were, and I- I mean, at first I said I didn’t know, but he didn’t believe me- I’ve always been a terrible liar, ever since we were kids, he saw right through me. And then he started making it out to be some kind of emergency- something about the doctor, and you being pregnant and needing medicine-“

Cathy sighed and leaning back as far as her plush leather seat would let her go. The walls of the room, painted dull yellow, felt like they were slowly inching closer on all sides. “I’m not pregnant. And all things considered, I’m never going to be.”

“I know, I know, but I wasn’t thinking straight. It was early, and I’d been out so late, and he sounded so. . . so on edge, it didn’t cross my mind that he was making the whole thing up.” She sounded close to tears. “I’m so, so sorry, Cathy. I never should have given him that address.”

“It’s not your fault,” she answered. “It’s his. And mine, too. I should have realized this wasn’t like the other times. With the way he was carrying on even _before_ he went out, he wasn’t bound to be in a fit state for work today.” She gnawed at the inside of her cheek, hard enough for a couple drops of blood to poke out between her molars.

“No, don’t blame yourself, either-“

“Why shouldn’t I? Four times a wife, and I haven’t been able to see a marriage through. Now this one’s falling apart, and it’s because of me.”

“What happened at the bank, with Tom and Ned-“

“But it’s not just that,” said Cathy. “Every week it’s different. How much time I’m spending on my book. How I should be a better host for dinner parties with his boss. How I don’t contribute any income. Always something.”

“He says all that to you?”

She bit down harder, summoning another spurt of blood. The metallic taste penetrated her mouth. “Usually when he’s drunk. Of course, he’s drunk a lot these days. Going out to bars, not coming home in the morning. . . but it’s hypocritical of me to say that now, after last night . . but I just. . . I wanted to feel love again. Or something close enough. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have done it.”

The other line went silent for a few moments.

“Jane? Are you still there?”

“Yes.” Another brief pause, then Jane’s words, slow and deliberate. “Tom is my brother.” 

Cathy waited, the phone shaking ever so slightly in her hand. It was as though one of the two, flesh or machine, was about to shatter into a thousand shards of glass, but she didn’t know which. 

“He’s my brother,” Jane continued, “but you’re family, too. The closest friend I’ve ever had. I can’t bear to see you hurting like this.”

“Please don’t,” said Cathy suddenly, because she could see the next sentence in front of her, blurry and indistinct, but coming closer, taking form, until she couldn’t look past it any longer. 

“Cathy, you need to file for divorce.”

Cathy pulled the phone away from her ear and clenched her teeth to keep from screaming.

*

Another sleepless night, only this time it was on the living room couch instead of the bed, with a draft curling around her waist instead of someone else’s arms.

The pillow was damp against her cheek, though she had long since stopped crying.

Now she just felt hollow.

Jane was right. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. If she was honey with herself, it was a fact she had known for a long time. There had been plenty of signs. The drinking, the infidelity, the barely veiled criticisms of everything she did. 

No, the question she had was _why again?_

One, two, three, four. Four husbands, four broken vows. Had they ever loved her? Had she ever loved them? It would be a flash as they courted her, a glimmer as they wed, and then it would die out, leaving nothing but shadows behind. 

There had to be something wrong with her. An imperfection, a hidden disfigurement that made itself known over the slow burning of the years into cinders. A reason for them to turn away.

And a reason, too, for her to let them go.

Because it wasn’t Thomas she was crying for. She hadn’t cried over any of her past husbands, either. She let them go with something akin to relief. 

Did that make her a bad person? Or just a person who hadn’t truly been in love? 

Then what even _was_ love? 

She had no right to, but she thought of Anne.

Flirting in the dim artificial light. A rapid heartbeat. Sighing in the dark. 

The ephemeral fragments were somehow so much more than the months she had spent with men. 

Sure, they could make her smile. They could charm her with compliments and entice her with gifts. An expensive dinner coupled with a few well-chosen words was enough for her to allow their touch.

_Allow. I never thought of it that way before._

_I never thought. . ._

_. . . I wanted. . ._

It had felt so, so good to chase what she wanted, for better or worse.

So she would. 

What she wanted was to get out of this relationship. What she didn’t want was another divorce. The two were incompatible.

By the time pale grey light heralded daybreak out the window, she’d made her choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn’t think I’d get this far, thank you to everyone who’s commented and left kudos. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathy begins the divorce proceedings with an old friend and her precocious protégée. The situation back home escalates quickly.

The walls of the lawyer’s office were painfully white, complete with polished oak wainscoting. A television screen hung on the opposite wall, turned off. The rest of the decorations were paintings. Cathy recognized a few: Las Meninas, Los Borrachos.

When leather wingtips clicked against the paneled wooden floor behind her, Cathy didn’t bother looking to see who it was. “You’ve always liked Velázquez,” she remarked. 

“So I have,” the newcomer answered in clipped, slightly accented words. 

“Well, they certainly add color to the place,” Cathy noted. “Otherwise. . . on the topic of Spaniards, what’s with the walls, Bernarda Alba? They’re practically glowing.” She finally turned around she said it, in time to see the half-smile of Catalina de Aragón, LLM. 

“I had them repainted. First impressions are important to me,” answered the other, whose immaculate suit skirt and neat golden-brown curls testified to the fact. 

“I know they are.” Both women stepped in at the same time. Lina’s hug was strong enough to crack ribs. 

“I’ve missed you, tía.”

“It’s good to see you again,” agreed Cathy. “I just wish it could be under. . . better circumstances.”

“Ah. As do I, my friend. I must say, you really know how to pick them.” She shook her head with sympathy in her shrewd brown eyes. Then she brightened. “But, you have me.”

“I do,” laughed Cathy. Her luck with men might have been shit, but she had the best and most loyal lawyer on the planet. Lina had seen her through the first divorce and every one of them since, and was probably the only reason that Cathy hadn’t come out of them flat broke. 

Lina didn’t have to show the way to the office; Cathy knew it well enough by now. It looked just about the same as she remembered it: tall windows bidding daylight inside, a bookshelf in every corner, and a rectangular desk right in the center.

What she wasn’t expecting was for someone to be sitting in Lina’s chair who was most definitely not Lina. 

The pretty young woman jumped when the door opened, her left elbow sending a stack of papers flying into the air. 

“Katherine!” Lina scolded from behind Cathy. 

“Sorry, Ms. Aragon, sorry!” yelped the girl, diving to retrieve the forms. 

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t rearrange papers back into chronological order. And you know you’re not supposed to be in my chair.”

“Yeah, well, now I know why,” Katherine retorted, tossing a bright pink ponytail over one shoulder as she rose to her feet. “I could already feel the superiority complex coming on. No wonder-“

“Would you _like_ to change your status from ‘paid intern’ to ‘insolvent smart-ass,’ Katherine?”

“As if you’d fire me. You don’t know what you’d do without my help.”

Lina ignored this remark, facing Cathy instead. “This is Katherine Howard, my assistant. For the time being.”

The girl flashed Cathy a winning smile. “Call me Kitty.”

“Nice to meet you, Kitty. I’m Cathy.”

“Right, you were on the schedule,” Kitty noted. “The divorcée-to-be. Congrats.”

“Katherine!” 

“Trust me, I’ve already earned that title,” said Cathy wryly, ignoring Lina’s rebuke, “Several times over.”

“Shit, sorry,” said Kitty, sobering. “I get that. Men are trash.”

“If you want to survive in a courtroom,“ Lina lectured to Kitty, “or a simple client meeting, for that matter- you’re going to need to learn to keep your opinions to yourself.”

Kitty gave a solemn nod, depositing the now-uneven pile of paper back onto the desk, but rolled her eyes as soon as Lina looked away. Cathy grinned in spite of herself.

“You want to be a lawyer, too?” she asked.

“Maybe. I’m taking courses in law, which is why I’m here, but also trying music and theatre on the side. It’s basically whatever works out first.”

“One option down, two to go,” muttered Lina, but Cathy didn’t missed the affection that flickered over her face even as she teased her assistant. The lawyer sat down at her desk, Kitty hovering at her side, and gestured for Cathy to take a chair in front of it.

“So,” Lina began. “We all know the routine by now. I just need to know: will he agree?”

“No,” answered Cathy. However tense their relationship was at the moment, she was certain that Thomas wouldn’t be on board with breaking it off. It would yet another slight to his pride, a dent in his masculinity that his family would nettle him about. And if they divided their assets, he unquestionably had the most to lose.

Lina nodded. “Then let’s get to work. Kitty? Get a pen. You’ll want to take notes.”

*

Cathy made it out of the office by mid-afternoon, her divorce petition folded in her back pocket. Before she walked back inside the house, she braced herself. This conversation was going to be even less enjoyable than the previous one. At least Lina was her friend, and Kitty was entertaining, to say the least. Thomas was neither (and, to top it off, probably still drunk). But she screwed her courage to the sticking place and walked in.

He was, as she had anticipated, sitting on the couch in the sitting room. The television was on, blaring with some vapid sitcom, but she doubted he was hearing a word of it. There was a bottle in his hand, and his eyes were slightly unfocused. 

“Tom,” she called.

No response.

“Tom!”

“Shut up. I’m watching this.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t care.” He took a swig, nearly spilling the remaining contents as he pulled it away from his cracked lips.

This was, she decided, probably the best mood she was going to get him in. Drunk and lethargic as opposed to drunk and enraged. “I’ve filed for divorce.”

He wheeled around, hands balling into fists. There was a tiny cracking sound as the neck of the bottle protested. “You did what?” he hissed.

She hadn’t bargained on him switching from the first mood to the second. 

“Not yet,” she backpedalled. _Stand your ground. No matter what._ It was what Lina had told her as she left, and now Cathy changed it like a mantra in her head. “But I’ve filled out the petition. I’m going to send it to the nearest centre this evening.”

“Like _hell_ you are,” he spat. “What, you thought. . . you. . . just marry me, then, then run off with it? All my money? Bull _shit_. You’re my wife. That’s not gonna change.”

“Actually-“ she swallowed, her tongue twisting into knots over the words- “a-actually, it will. I’ve met with my lawyer already, and she’s-“

Thomas heaved himself up, fixing her with a pugnacious glare. “You’re not paying for some bitch lawyer with my money.”

She bristled. _His money, again. It’s not me he cares about losing_. “It’s not your decision. The only question here is if you’re agreeing or not.”

“I’m not fucking debating this,” he roared, flinging his drink to the side. The glass shattered discordantly against the floor, splintering into so many chips of ice, engulfing the room with the reek of the liquid that was slowly spreading a dark stain over the carpet. “You- you can’t just- I have to agree to it, and I won’t, goddamnit. Half my money. . . and my family- _fuck_ no. You’re not going anywhere.”

Cathy hastened backward, reaching out to feel the comforting square of the divorce petition in her pocket, the single sheet that would buy her out of this nightmare. “I am.”

“I said _no!_ “

Suddenly she was reeling backward. She hadn’t seem him lunge, only now he was standing above her as she doubled over, one hand going automatically to her cheek. It stung. 

Her head spun, rendering the whole room an indistinct blur. Bit by bit it reformed, and if in a dream, she took in the sight of the broken glass, the angry red rims around Thomas’s eyes. . . his open palm, held halfway up. . . and the fist which still held the serrated edge. 

_I’m not safe here. Not now. Not anymore._

Cathy turned on her heel. Even as she slammed the front door shut behind her, she could hear him shouting a tirade of threats, obscenities, and invective that nearly snapped her fragile resolve. Without letting herself hesitate, she darted off the porch and down the driveway, her momentum almost carrying her past her car. She managed to seized the door handle and pull herself inside. 

Whether Thomas attempted to follow or collapsed into the mess before he made it out the door, Cathy didn’t look back to affirm. She was already skidding down the street, not knowing to where she was going, but certain of what she was leaving behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes: 
> 
> The “Bernarda Alba” bit is a reference to Lorca’s play La Casa de Bernarda Alba, where the character Bernarda is obsessed with very white walls. I felt like Lina would have similar taste. 
> 
> Tía = friend (in this context). 
> 
> Not sure if I’ve said this before, but in this AU Cathy divorced her previous husbands; they didn’t die because a) modern hygiene and b) better angst potential.
> 
> Finally, this might be the last chapter for a while. I’m applying to college/financial aid programs so I haven’t had time to write. I’ll get back to it as soon as I can.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she weighs her options, Cathy receives an unexpected call.

She ended up in a park. One of those forgotten vacant lots with a morose plastic playset and peeling paint on the benches. The sun was beginning to dip down, dampening the landscape with strokes of amber light. 

To restless to sit, Cathy paced the perimeter, strategizing.

Option one, which was not an option, was going back to the house, which had once been home but was suddenly not home.

Option two was rent a room to stay in. But for all her braggadocio to Thomas, her spending situation wasn’t ideal. He’d talked her into closing her individual bank account when they’d married, but never got around to opening a joint one. Without her name on the account, she couldn’t withdraw on her own. Which meant that she didn’t have much to work with. 

(She was beginning to wonder why she had been so ready to trust him, when there were already signs, even then. . .)

Option three was go stay with a friend. Jane would welcome her; Cathy was certain, that wasn’t what made her hesitate. Jane lived only three houses down the street. While Cathy doubted Thomas could make it very far behind the wheel before crashing into something, he was probably sufficiently ambulant to make it to Jane’s door.

Jane was always home by five. If nobody answered when he knocked, Thomas would have abundant reason for suspicion. 

But it was no better if Jane did answer, because for all her virtues, she was, by her own admittance, a terrible liar. All Thomas had to do was ask, and the truth would manifest on Jane’s face.

Either way, her husband could easily find out where exactly she was, practically in reach. The thought made her skin crawl.

_But where else do I have to go?_

She had resigned herself to dipping into her severely limited funds when her cell phone started ringing in her pocket. 

The number on the screen was unfamiliar. With a tap of her fingers Cathy denied the call, only for it to ring again immediately after. She frowned and held it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Cathy?” a breathless, wonderfully familiar voice answered on the other end. “Is that you?”

“ _Anne_?”

“Yeah, listen-“

“How did you get my number?” She tried and failed to recall exchanging them.

“Kind of a long story-“

“I’ve got time.” _Anything to keep talking to you._ Cathy hadn’t figured she would hear any trace of Anne ever again. Now, just listening to her, was like a salve over the hole that had been torn inside her. 

_How melodramatic. Like I’m a teenager again._

“Okay, well, you know how you went to Aragon’s office today?”

“How in God’s name-“

“I’m getting there. See, my cousin‘s interning there, maybe you remember her- goes by Kitty? Scrawny kid, pink hair?”

“Your cousin!” Cathy exclaimed. It was funny- now that Anne said it, she could see the resemblance. 

“Yeah, small world, right? So we were having lunch today, and she’s telling me about her day, and she mentions someone named Catherine, and I’m like, okay, that’s not so weird- hell, Kitty’s full name is Katherine, and Aragon’s name is like, Spanish Catherine. Point being, there’s a lot of Catherines.”

“True,” said Cathy, smiling as Anne sucked in another breath. 

“But _then_ she says you were getting a divorce, and I don’t know, I just sort of wondered, so I asked what you looked like and- yeah. Aragon let her make copies of some of the files, for safekeeping or whatever, and your phone number was right in there. So. . . here we are. I wanted to. . . just check in, you know?”

Cathy wrapped her fingers more tightly around the phone, watching the shadows racing each other westward. “I’m glad you called,” she said quietly. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you. . . I’m so sorry about what happened. The whole reason I went out that night was to forget about Tom for a few hours, and I brought him right to your door.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I don’t blame you. I could tell right away that you didn’t want him there. . . except I still need to figure out how he knew.”

“About that. . .” As concisely as she could, Cathy summarized what had happened. 

“It wasn’t Jane’s fault, though,” she added as she finished. “Tom lied to her.”

“Sure.” Anne sounded relieved. “I wasn’t mad at her or anything. It just feels good knowing the truth- I was worried he’d done something creepy like follow us home.” Anne seemed to fumble with the next words before finally getting them out. “But honestly, Cathy, that guy’s still a prick.”

“I know.” Still, it felt good to hear Anne say it. As if Tom was to blame for all of this, not Cathy.

“I was really happy to hear you were ending it,” Anne said. “You deserve so much better.”

The last three divorces posed ample evidence to the contrary, but she didn’t want to go down that road. Instead she nodded, realizing belatedly that Anne couldn’t see her. “Thank you. I mean, I hope you’re right.“

Neither of them said anything for a while after that. Cathy just kept gripping the phone like a lifeline, desperate to prolong the call, to delay the inevitable moment when Anne would hang up and leave her utterly, awfully alone. 

“Where are you now?” Anne asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, is- is he with you?”

“No. He’s at the house.”

“And you’re not?”

“I just left. After telling him that it’s over. He didn’t. . . take it too well.” 

“Then I’m glad you’re away from him. Are you safe, though? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

She was so earnest, so thoughtful. She cared. Cathy couldn’t lie to her. 

“No. . . not at the moment.”

There was a rustling sound from Anne’s end, an indistinct noise suggestive of movement. “Where are you? I can come.”

“You don’t have to do this, Anne,” she forced herself to say. “Really, you don’t.” She didn’t deserve this kindness, not after everything that she had put Anne through, even though the mere thought of seeing her again accelerated the rhythm of Cathy’s heart. 

“I want to.” A faint roaring- was she already in the car? “Just give me the place. Please.”

“. . . okay.” 

Cathy opened her location on her phone and texted it to Anne, unable to resist any longer. Not just because she didn’t have anywhere or anyone else, but because it was Anne, and as little as they knew each other, that fact alone was more than enough. 

The car pulled up to the curb before fifteen minutes had gone by. Cathy practically sprinted off the bench.

Anne was perched in the front seat, a tense smile resting on her face. “Hi.”

Cathy laughed at the anticlimactic greeting. It sounded quick and breathy even to her own ears.

“Hi,” she echoed. “Thank you so much- I can’t even say- this night has been. . .” She trailed off, shaking her head. Anne’s eyes narrowed. 

“What happened to your ear?” she asked sharply. 

“What?”

“You’ve got blood on it.”

“I do?” Lifting a hand, Cathy was startled to feel a thin line of cruor crusting her helix. “Oh.”

“Did he do that to you?” 

“I- no- it’s not-“ It was, of course, it had to be, but it was so _pathetic_ -

“He _did_ , didn’t he? That b-“ Anne clenched her teeth, cutting herself off with a glance toward the back seat. Following her line of sight, Cathy found herself staring straight at Elizabeth, who was strapped into a booster seat. She looked away as Cathy met her gaze, fiddling with the strap of her seat belt. 

“-that _guy_ is going to pay for that,” Anne hissed. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “He’s lucky I brought Elizabeth with me, else I’d go and-“

“Anne. Please. It’s. . . it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Anne yanked the gear into place with far more force than necessary.

They were quiet for the rest of the drive. Cathy stared out the window, watching the darkening landscape flicker past. House after house, probably home to normal happy families with a loving husband and a devoted wife and hyperactive kids, the future that God seemed determined to dangle just out of her reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found some time to write again; it’s a bit rough but I’m happy to be back! <3 Thank you for all the kudos and comments while I’ve been away. (Also, I think I posted this chapter twice by mistake- sorry about that, should be fixed now.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cathy goes to stay at Anne’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day! Thank you so much for every comment so far. I promise I read them all; I’m just slow to reply.

(November)

When they arrived at the flat complex, Anne shepherded her daughter into a lift. Cathy trailed behind them.

“I can press the button,” Elizabeth insisted, pushing away her mother’s hands. She stabbed it with her finger and beamed up at Anne, pride sparking in her eyes. “See?”

“Good job,” Anne intoned distractedly. Disheartened, Elizabeth looked to Cathy, attempting a shyer but still eager smile. Cathy nodded approval, mustering up as much enthusiasm as she could. The smile flashed wider, then, quick as it had come, flitted away like a startled sparrow. 

Anne’s flat was about how Cathy had remembered: small, not particularly tidy, but pleasant nontheless. The bedroom door down the hall was open, and Cathy’s heart skipped a beat as she remembered the last time she had been here. It felt like forever ago, somehow, instead of only days. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Anne as Elizabeth darted into an adjacent room— Cathy caught sight of a sky-blue bedspread before the door swung shut. “I’ve got to make dinner.”

“I can help,” Cathy offered immediately. Dinner was the least she could do, but at least it was something. 

“Don’t worry about it—“ Anne began.

“Please, let me.” 

Anne must have caught the desperate edge to Cathy’s voice, because she relented without further protest. “Well . . . all right. Could you set the oven to 200?”

They started making flatbread pizza— “Nothing fancy,” Anne noted with a rueful smile, “but it does the job.” She fetched ingredients for Cathy to whisk in a bowl, then spread flour over a tray. As Cathy set down the dough, her hand knocked over the open tin of baking powder, dusting Anne’s sleeves white.

“Sorry—“ Cathy started to apologize, but Anne just laughed. 

“It’s always a mess by the time I’m done, anyway,” she said, replacing the tin. She shook out her sleeves dramatically, prompting Cathy to laugh, too. 

“You cook a lot?” Cathy asked. Inwardly she wondered why she wanted to know, why the information came like rain to a wilted rose. 

“When I have time,” said Anne while she rolled out the dough. “I’ll get McDonalds if I’ve got to, but, I mean, I don’t want to live on that crap.”

“Makes sense.” Cathy lapsed back into silence— thinking again, as always, the relentless inner monologue never letting her rest. Because of course she didn’t want to think about how she’d always been left with cooking for Thomas once they were married, even though she really didn’t care for it much, and how he’d complained, but never volunteered, criticized, but never helped, and how frustrated and angry and tired it made her, but she’d never done anything, never left until the extreme—

And then, by some fortune, a sound caught her ears, enticed her out of her own head. Quiet, lilting, honeyed. A melody. That was it— Anne was singing, softly to herself as she oiled a pan.

_“If you intend thus to disdain  
It does the more enrapture me”_

Cathy listened, transfixed, pausing in her task of julienning red onions.

_“And even so, I still remain  
A lover in captivity”_

“That’s beautiful.” Anne jumped a little as Cathy said it, nearly dropping the pan. 

“Ah! Jesus, you’ve been quiet. I almost forgot you were there.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t— you don’t have to apologize for everything, y’know?”

“That. . . makes me feel like apologizing again,” Cathy sighed. “Anyway, I shouldn’t have interrupted. You’re an amazing singer.”

“Aw, not exactly.” Anne flicked on the heat, avoiding Cathy’s eyes, but Cathy could see the blush blooming over her cheeks. “Like, I do lessons and stuff,” she continued. “For anyone who’s willing to pay me. But that’s just for an income. It’s not like I could perform or anything.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Cathy countered. “That song, did you make it up?”

Anne bit her lip. “It’s really not that impressive,” she muttered, studying the flatbread intently. 

“I think it is.”

Anne just laughed, short and sharp, and Cathy let the topic drop as she watched the oil dance over the pan’s metal surface. 

By the time that Anne called Elizabeth for dinner, Cathy’s legs practically gave out from under her as she crumpled into a chair. She was exhausted, drenched with the sort of bone-deep weariness that could only accompany a day as long as this one. Elizabeth scrambled into a chair next to Anne, her toes just skimming the floor.

“Elizabeth, this is Cathy,” Anne introduced her. “Not sure if I told you before. She’s going to be staying with us for a bit, okay?”

“Mkay.” Elizabeth, it seemed, was occupied with stripping her pizza of any and all toppings. Noticing this, Anne frowned. 

“What’s wrong with the cheese?” she demanded.

“I don’t like it melty.”

“It’s literally the same thing.”

“Nuh-uh. Tastes different.”

“Okay, well, you’re going to eat those vegetables.”

Watching them— Elizabeth’s earnest stubbornness, Anne’s insincere irritation— a smile tugged at Cathy’s lips. Finding herself suddenly starving, she focused on her food, listening to them as she ate, occasionally contributing a word of her own. She felt at home, here in this strange place with these near-strangers, but she turned her thoughts away from the nagging questions and let herself enjoy it. 

The hours melted away. They finished dinner, washed the dishes. Anne tucked Elizabeth into bed as Cathy showered and changed into borrowed clothes. Faint silver moonlight was kneeling through the blinds by the time she stepped out. The warm water had chased away the tears as quickly as they’d come, and now her eyes were dry. 

Somehow, by the end, she ended up in Anne’s bed. Something about the living room couch being too small and too uncomfortable, coupled with the unacknowledged truth that they’d already slept together, anyway, so neither of them had any reservations. They didn’t sleep together tonight— not in the figurative sense, at least— but as cool air pooled over Cathy’s back, she found herself asking, with a courage reserved for the cover of tranquil darkness, “Could you . . . hold me?”

She’d thought, for some reason, that Anne might hesitate, perhaps refuse, but instead she just rolled over and draped her arms around Cathy, gentle but secure— safer than Cathy had ever felt with anyone, any of them. She leaned into the warm touch. “Thank you. And . . . for everything, today.”

“Of course,” Anne answered, her voice soft. “Glad to. You’ve had it rough.” 

“Still. All I’ve done is cause you trouble.” 

“Tonight wasn’t trouble. I liked the company. You know, most nights, it’s just the two of us. Gets lonely.” 

They lapsed into silence. Anne’s breath breezed over Cathy’s curls, rhythmic and steady. Despite it all— the vivid memories of earlier, the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, the faint discomfort of her chest against the firm mattress— she managed to drift away into indistinct dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy chapter this time, because Cath needs a break. Anne’s song is “Greensleeves” (yep, -1/10 for creativity, I know).


End file.
